


Accidental

by Ylith



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Internalized Homophobia, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:42:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ylith/pseuds/Ylith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After accidentally seeing them have sex, Straight!Eames wants his college roommate Robert's boyfriend, Arthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a prompt from the Inception Kink Meme, it also has not been betaed, so any mistakes are my own.

Eames pulled on his headphones, drowning the world out with Massive Attack, a band of choice for when he was moody as fuck. He stared at the door of his Intro to Russian Literature class one last time before turning on his heel, shoes squeaking against the over polished stone. He stalked out of building, pushing his hands deep into his pockets against the icy chill of the night air.

He usually didn’t mind his night class, but he just couldn’t be bothered, not that night. It wasn’t that Anne had broken up with him again; her newfound and ever growing confidence had meant that their “on again” periods had been slowly but steadily decreasing in length, but soon as she had a dry spell she was usually back. It wasn’t even that he really fucking hated every character in Anna Karenina, he just was tired and angry.

Lately, it seemed, he always felt angry.

Eames wiped at his runny nose with the back of his hand, continuing almost on autopilot across campus. He barely registered the walk until he was sliding his ID card through the door scanner to get into his dorm. He took the stairs, not desiring any forced elevator chitchat with his fellow students. He tugged his headphone down when he reached his door, fishing his keys from his pockets while the noises from the hallway crept to his attention.

Robert must be watching a movie, though the blasts and booms from what had to be an action movie not the other boy’s usual taste. He was grateful to have a reason to go straight to his room, usually making some effort at conversation or pleasantries with his roommate. The guy was decent enough, if a bit stuck up, but then again that was almost inevitable considering the fact that from what Eames had heard Robert’s family was beyond loaded.

He’d only just pulled the heavy door open when he looked in and froze.

Robert was sitting on the couch with his back to Eames, the TV before him blasting what he immediately recognized as his copy of Crank 2. He had only met him a few times, but even in the dim light Eames could still recognize the figure sitting atop Robert’s lap as his boyfriend Arthur. The dark haired boy was bouncing atop Robert, riding his cock with wild abandon, his face scrunched up as he gripped the back of the couch with whitened knuckles.

Eames immediately jerked back, his shoulder catching against the doorframe so that he had to look down to adjust his footing. He quickly pulled the door until it was open only a few inches, trying to make as little noise as possible. He knew he should just shut the door and be done with it, already not sure how he’d be able to face Robert later without completely betraying what he’d witnessed, but before he could stop himself he was looking in again. He watched Robert’s head fall back against the couch, hands at Arthur’s waist. Arthur’s head was tilted back, eyes clenched and breathy cries audible even over the booming television. Eames was just about to shut the door when Arthur’s eyes opened, rolling forward to fall in his direction.

Arthur’s cheeks flushed a deeper rose, his eyes fixed on Eames as the other boy froze in place, unsure of what to do. Arthur was looking rather panicked, his hips stilling and eyes locked on Eames. He stuttered, glancing down at Robert and resting his hands awkwardly on the other boy’s shoulders. For a moment, Eames thought he was going to tell Robert, but before he could get anything out beyond the boy’s name, Robert was pulling him close, thrusting up into him.

“Oh yeah babe,” Robert groaned. “Say my name again.” Then he was pushing Arthur onto his back on the coffee table, fucking into him with smooth strokes. Arthur’s breath was hitching, his eyes darting back to Eames before covering his eyes in shame as Robert drew a strangled moan from him.

“Don’t hide your face,” Robert rasped in a honeyed tone, taking Arthur’s slim wrists and pulling them away from his eyes.

Eames shut the door a little harder than he’d wanted to, his hand jerking away from the knob. He stared at the door, half expecting Robert to open it to inspect the noise, but all he could hear were the muffled shouts from the movie.

His face was hot, his breath not coming fast enough until he realized he’d been holding it. Eames shook his head to clear it, palms pressing against his eyes before he darted to the bathrooms to compose himself. “Fuck!” he hissed, pushing the door open with a sharp slam of the heel of his hand. He was grateful to see the communal room empty, moving to the first stall and locking it.

He pressed his head against the cool metal, one fist coming up to rest against it as well. He pulled his head back an inch only to crash his forehead forward again. “Fuck!” he shouted again, voice bouncing off the tile walls. His face burned with embarrassment, his chest tight as he tried to think of what to do.

He’d thought he’d lucked out living with Robert. He knew the guy was gay, but from the beginning had been tidy and had decked out their dorm in tons of expensive shit Eames would never have been able to afford on his own. Big screen TV, game systems, all sorts. He’d always known Robert was gay, the fact being a little hard to miss is Eames was honest, but even when Robert had started bringing Arthur around months ago, the two acted more like buddies around him. If it weren’t for the introduction of “this is my boyfriend Arthur” and few times they’d shared a goodbye peck on the lips he’d never have known they were together. Arthur was a nice enough guy, not that Eames was really friends with either of them, but they’d hang out and watch movies and sometimes go to the same parties together.

And now Eames didn’t have a fucking clue how he’d be able to look at either one of them ever again.

He thought of the last time they’d hung out, they had watched Top Chef over Chinese takeout from from Robert’s favorite restaurants. Eames sat on the floor with his back against the couch, hunched over his box of pork fried rice while Robert and Arthur sat behind him on the couch. Robert’s feet were propped on the coffee table and Arthur’s long legs were tucked beside him. He’d accidentally brush the back of Eames’ head with his knee almost every time he shifted, apologizing just as emphatically each time.

Now all Eames could see was the Arthur’s knit brows, his pink flushed cheeks, the look on his face when he first saw Eames, the way he covered his eyes when Robert fucked him.

Eames took a deep breath, tugging the lock open with unsteady fingers before moving to one of the many sinks. He leaned both hands on the gruby porcelain, his eyes lifting to see himself in the mirror. Once glance at his inflamed cheeks and he was cranking the cold tap as far as it would go, letting the water run for a moment before splashing his face. The water began to soak into the cuffs of his jacket but he paid it no mind, holding his cold palms over his eyes as another vision of Arthur’s panting mouth filled his mind.

He wanted to throw up, horrified with the whole fucked up situation. He’d never walked in on any of his friends having sex before, much less his gay fucking roommate. Eames didn’t know if he’d be able to sit on the damn couch ever again. Robert of course bought it, he’d bought almost everything in the place but Eames bloody well used it too, and he immediately gazed down at himself, wanting to wash his clothes but settling in the moment for vigorously scrubbing his hands.

Eames considered just staying in the bathroom for a while, collecting his thoughts. He didn’t want to see anyone, but the communal nature of the bathroom meant it was only a matter of minutes before the door opened, a guy in flannel pants and a blue t-shirt stopping short when he saw Eames before awkwardly shuffling towards one of the urinals. Eames huffed, ignoring the look the guy snuck over his shoulder before finally leaving the bathroom.

His door caught his eyes, but a quick glance at his phone told him not that much time had actually passed. God forbid they were still at it, or that Arthur had told Robert what had happened and they were waiting for him. He knew his gym was open until midnight, and if nothing else he could at least chill on a couch or jog on the treadmill and flood his busy brain with music.

Eames was walking down the hall when Yusuf, the RA for his floor, came out of the elevator with a paper bag in one arm and a sandwich in the other. His brows rounded when he saw Eames, the side of his mouth curling into a conspiratorial grin. “Eames!” he said, his voice jolly as he either failed to notice or couldn’t be bothered with the other boy’s stormy expression. “Wanna get drunk?”

Eames’ shoulders sank in relief. “Fuck yeah,” he breathed out, ambling forwards.

The two of them sank down on Yusuf’s couch, the box spring broken so that they practically sank to the floor, but it was still comfortable enough. It wasn’t the first time Eames had been on this couch, seeing as Yusuf was pretty much the worst RA ever and known for throwing parties and having the best weed on campus. He was an academic type though, a TA in several upper level chemistry labs and bloody brilliant, so Eames was sure he was given the benefit of the doubt when it came to his extracurriculars.

“What’ll it be then,” Yusuf asked, pulling several bottles out of his paper bag with a happy sigh. “Blueberry Vodka or tequila?”

“Blueberry?” Eames says, more a criticism than an actual question, but he holds his hand out all the same for the bottle.

“You’ll like it,” Yusuf said, handing over the bottle before crossing to his mini fridge and grabbing two plastic cups from above it. He chucked one to Eames, keeping the other for himself and palming a salt shaker before sitting down on the other side of the couch, his feet heavily resting on the table before him. “Fuck,” he mumbled, glancing over at the fridge. “Did you want ice?”

Eames pursed his lips and shook his head, practically ripping the cap off the Vodka before tipping the bottle back and taking several deep swallows.

Yusuf curled his nose in disgust, an upraised palm raised accusingly in Eames’ direction. “Why do you think I gave you the cup, man?” he groaned. “The human mouth is a disgusting place...god only knows where you’ve been.”

Eames couldn’t help the wry smile. He’d been with Anne on and off since the 9th grade, and of the other two girls he’d dated, he’d only gotten physical with one of them. He didn’t know why people tended to think he was up to his elbows in it and usually, as he did right now, laughed it off, his head lolling back against the couch. “Anyone told you you’re paranoid?” he asked, pouring the vodka in his cup all the same.

“I have happily made it to my mid twenties without any transmitted diseases,” Yusuf touted, wiping the lip of the bottle before taking some vodka for himself. He leaned back with a heavy sigh, cup held against his hideous brown sweater. “I am so sick of fucking second semester freshmen, I swear to god,” he groaned, eyes screwed shut before he rubbed at them with his free hand.

“Second semester?” Eames asked before tipping his cup back and downing almost a third of its contents. “Rather targeted hatred, innit?”

“You have ‘no’ idea,” Yusuf said gravely. “First semester is fine, it’s all new, they’re excited and all that....but by the second semester these fuckers think cause they passed Intro Chem they know everything. The only people worse are the ones who passed Intro Psych...if you want to talk about insufferable-”

“Not really,” Eames cut in with a little shake of his head while he reached for the bottle again. The vodka warmed his belly pleasantly, and seeing as he was only a few doors down from his own dorm room was looking forward to ruining himself quite thoroughly.

“I’m giving you free alcohol, the least you can do is commiserate with me,” Yusuf chided.

Eames sighed, leaning back. “I’ve had a fucked up day man,” he said. “Just...” for a second he considered telling him, but he decided against it, instead letting his voice trail off.

“Did Anne dump you again?” Yusuf asked, not exactly sounding that sympathetic.

Eames let out of short humorless laugh, one knee falling from side to side. “Yeah man, last week.”

Yusuf took a drink, grimacing as he looked down into his cup. “Yeah well, it’s not like she won't be back, right? I have never heard of a chick dumping someone as many times as she’s dumped your sorry ass, it’s ridiculous.”

“I dunno,” Eames said with a shrug. “She made a big deal about this being the last time...”

“Yeah but how many times has she said that?” Yusuf cut in.

Eames snorted, tipping his cup back and swallowing the rest of its contents in a thick gulp which burned his throat. 

_ _ _ _

When Eames woke the next morning, the pillow beneath his cheek was wet. He raised his head, the sudden movement causing the room about him to tilt on end. He immediately fell back and shut his eyes with a groan, his head still swimming with a dull throb growing at the base of his skull. As soon as he could open his eyes again, he glanced at the clock, cursing when he saw he’d completely missed his first class and half of his second. So much for taking extra notes before his exam Thursday.

After taking a moment to steady himself, Eames glanced down to see that one arm had been pulled free from his shirt, his jeans unbuttoned but still somewhat pulled up about his hips. The wet patch on his pillow was drool, which was gross but could be and had been worse. A quick glance down revealed a second wet patch on his boxer fronts, though there wasn’t enough to be urine.

Eames groaned, gingerly pulling his boxers away and wrinkling his nose in distaste as the cloth clung to the tacky cum inside. Lovely...just lovely. He carefully lowered his jeans and boxers, kicking them off the end on his foot in the general direction of his closet before sending his shirt in the same direction. The bend down to collect his sweatpants from the floor brought made his stomach roll with nausea, but he didn’t throw up. He knew he probably should just get it over with, but dear lord he hated puking. Instead, he opted for the tried and true ‘shower, flat Coke, and three Ibuprofen” solution.

Eames pulled the sweatpants up his naked hips, just needing something to cover himself so he could get to the bathroom and shower. He picked his towel up from his desk chair, the quick sniff he gave to test its “freshness” eliciting a lip purse and half-hearted shrug. He really needed to do some fucking laundry.

Steeling himself with a quick inhale, Eames opened his door and peeked out. Other than the usual murmurings from the hallway, the rest of the dorm unit was quiet which meant that Robert wasn’t home. It wasn’t that Robert was annoying, but he had a way of making his presence known when he was about. He walked to the showers with his towel over one shoulder and a bottle of shampoo clutched in one hand. He grinned when he saw the handwritten note taped to the door, recognizing Yusuf’s sloppy scrawl which read “Stop jerking off in the fucking stalls! The pipes can’t handle all your semen and it costs thousands to clean properly. Rub it out in your rooms like normal people. Next time the whole floor gets fined. -The RA”

Eames was sure the University heads would probably have a stroke at Yusuf’s subtle request, and wondered how long the message would last before some trust fund baby tattled and had it taken down. Considering what different worlds they came from, Eames was sometimes surprised at how well he and Robert got along.

The showers were stalls covered by filmy blue curtains, giving little privacy to the self conscious. Shyness was admittedly not something Eames was afflicted with, and he stripped off without care after turning on one of the showers. The water was just on the side of too hot, searing against his skin in a way that he loved. The steam filled his lungs and enveloped him until his muscles felt loose; liquid. He idly pushed the hair back from his forehead, soaped his underarms and over his chest, let soapy fingers glide up and down through his pubic hair before running over the length of his cock. Yusuf’s note flashed in his mind, a smirk quirking the corner of his mouth as he imagined the pipes bursting under the pressure of the copious fluids they ‘just weren’t made to handle.’

But then all he could see was Arthur, his face scrunching as it was splattered with semen. Eames immediately opened his eyes, the hot water stinging them. He let his head fall forward, mouth hanging open and he breathed heavily, taking in the thick steam and trying to think of anything else. All he could see though was Arthur’s thin little chest rising and falling as he panted, the way his mouth hung limp and his lashes fluttered.

Eames jerked the handle of the shower all the way down to the hot side, reaching for the shampoo. Maybe he should just call Anne. So long as he hadn’t found a new guy yet, she’d probably take him back. It had been a while since he’d had sex, and while such a thing would normally not bother him, he was beginning to think these thoughts about Arthur were signs it had been too fucking long.

In the moment, Eames really meant to call her, but when he gets back to his dorm he doesn’t even pick up his phone.

Thursday night he leaves the gym, his arms leaden and aching from the hours he spent pounding one of the hanging bags in the back. He’d shoved his earbuds in and tuned out the rest of the world, jabbing and weaving until he could barely lift his arms. A dull tingle was already setting into his thighs, and he knew he’d be paying for it for a few days. The first night he did this had been torture, but by now it was routine. This dedication was not solely in the gym, his studies improving somewhat as he’d been taking advantage of the library study cubicles between classes instead of returning to his dorm room or the commons area at the student center.

Eames had started all of this in moderation, the studying an attempt to fill his head and leave no more room for Arthur, and his workouts to make him so tired he had no energy to think when he finally fell into bed at night. Like anything though, Eames was building a tolerance. He’d been blissfully blank, chest heaving in front of the hanging pad and ready to call it a night when Arthur popped into his head, being lowered back against the coffee table where he used to study for his fucking midterms.

And jesus christ, he’d started getting hard in the middle of his fucking gym. He hadn’t needed to look down to know it, but instead letting his fists fly against the bag until he thought his heart would explode.

He walked home now with earbuds back in place, hands thrust in his jacket pockets and a knit cap pulled down over his head. He was under no delusion that he could keep this up, grateful that this grueling schedule had worked in his favor at all during the week, but it was too punishing to last. Eventually he’d crash and be stuck with himself and his thoughts.

He tried not to give the incident at the gym another thought, but the words “you got hard” mockingly ran wild through his mind, and he couldn’t chase it away no matter how hard he tried. He reached into his pocket for his phone, but pushed it back in before he completely withdrew it, opting instead up push the volume up on his ipod.

When he got to his floor, a large group had gathered by the TV commons with their blankets, pillows, and popcorn to watch Dexter, leaving the hall uncharacteristically quiet. Eames made a quick glance but didn’t see Robert, which was hardly shocking but somewhat unfortunate. The strip below his door was dark though, and Eames was relieved to walk into a dark room. Robert’s door was shut, a soft glow spilling beneath it, but Eames’ eyes immediately fixed on the familiar messenger bag resting against the side of the couch.

Eames sighed with relief when he shut his own door, resting his forehead against it and reminding himself that Robert had morning classes even before he did. He tossed his bag beside the bed and his ipod onto it as he took off his jacket and hat. He knew he should shower, that his muscles would thank him for it in the morning, but he was just too damn tired. He pulled off his sweater and jeans, falling face first onto his mattress with a loud groan.

Something thumped against the wall separating his room from Robert’s. Eames’ eyes shot up towards the wall as though he expected to be able to see through it. Robert laughed, the sound muffled but easily distinguishable. Another thud, followed quickly by something which could be a laugh but Eames suspected was rather a groan.

Jesus, why again did he think it was a good idea to room with a gay guy?

Eames rolled onto his back, reaching for his phone one more time. This time he scrolled through the names with a purpose, hitting the call button. He lay back on the bed, his free arm draped over his forehead as he listened to the tinny dial tone once, twice, before finally -

“Eames?”

Anne’s voice was groggy, and he could imagine her wiping her eyes with the pad of her middle finger as she did when she woke up.

“Hey,” he said, his voice rumbling thick from deep in his chest.

“It’s late,” she said, her voice cracking a little before she yawned, the receiver scratching with static as she moved about. “Is something wrong?”

“No” he said quickly, eyes falling back towards Robert’s wall. “No, sorry...I can call you later if you want, I just...just missed you.”

Anne groaned. “Look....Eames...” She sighed heavily, her words which followed hardly a surprise. “If this is your way of trying to get me back, it’s all really a little too late. When I told you I wanted you to call more, I meant during the day like normal people.”

“That’s not -” Eames covered his eyes with his wide palm, swallowing thickly as he realized he really had no idea what he wanted to say to her, what he wanted her to say. He just really didn’t want her to hang up. “That’s not why I called.”

“Cause I really was serious about that being the last time. We just don’t go well together, Eames...and I just needed more than you were willing to give me.”

Eames lets her talk, practically able to hear her words in his head before she even said them aloud, he’d heard them so many times before. But Yusuf was right, as soon as she got bored waiting for someone “better” she’d be back for another week or two, maybe even a few months. Of course, he knew better than to say this aloud. “I know,” he finally said. “We were just together so long, it’s weird not seeing you around.”

She sighed, but he could hear the irritation melting from her voice. There was another laugh from Robert’s room, and this time a noise which couldn’t be taken as anything other than a groan before he heard a muffled “Shit babe...” All Eames could think of was Arthur on the bed between Robert’s knees, hungrily sucking him off with that prissy little mouth.

“You don’t miss me at all then?” he asked, his full lips quirking up into a smirk as he shifted himself against the bed, drawing one knee up and letting his hand reach down to idly cup over his prick. “Not even a tiddly bit?”

She snorted into the phone, but Eames knew instantly that he had her. Anne had been the one to hit on him from the get go, his thick muscular body and smooth accent pushing all her buttons. Deep down she loved the bad boys, and her current crusade to find herself a stable “driven” guy had only served to weaken her resolve when it came to him. Sometimes Eames is convinced she would have snatched up Robert if he hadn’t been gay.

“Eames,” she said, dragging his name out in that way she had when she was feeling frisky. Staccato cries came muffled through the way before they were extinguished, but Eames still turned onto his side, the ear not occupied by the phone pressed against his pillow.

“I haven’t been out to a club in ages,” he said, his tone as mirthful as he could manage. “Think you might want to go out some night? We could even bring a few others and go as a group.”

There was silence from Anne’s line, but in this case the silence was a good thing. Silence wasn’t a no.

“Come on, Annie,” he said, his knee lolling from side to side. “We can go to Blend...get a couple Angry Germans...dance in the Ghetto room for old time’s sake.”

There was a momentary pause before she finally spoke again. “That actually sounds great...” she said. “I’ve got a test next week...I’m totally freaking out about it, by the way...pretty sure I’ll be ready to get obliterated afterwards.”

Eames let out a throaty laugh, his tongue gliding wetly over his uneven teeth. “What day’s your test then?”

“Thursday,” she said, drawing the word out with a playfully seductive tone.

“Meet you there or should I pick you up?” he asked.

She sighed, but he could tell she was smiling. “I’ll meet you there, Eames...and I’m bringing Jill.”

“Then I’ll see you Thursday,” he said, letting his voice get gravely. Eames turned his head triumphantly towards Robert’s wall, wondering why he hadn’t just done this earlier.

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

“Eames!”

Eames paused, the hand not holding his gym bag stilled on the door handle as he turned to face Robert, who was just coming out of his bedroom to catch him before he could slip away. Robert was running his fingers through his thick hair, slicking it back. “Glad I caught you, man,” he said. “Where you off to?”

Eames glanced down at his bag like it should be perfectly obvious, but answered him all the same. “Just the gym-”

“No no no,” Robert said, his pale blue eyes rolling dramatically as he stepped forward and pulled Eames’ bag down from his shoulder. “You’re coming with us. There’s a party at Ari’s...I’m footing the booze bill of course, so we don’t have to settle for that keg shit again...” Robert made a grimace akin to the face he made the first time he saw Eames in plaid. “But you should come. You’ve been moping all week about Anne and we need your big muscles to help us carry shit.”

Eames felt himself redden at “us” and couldn’t stop his eyes from darting to Robert’s doorway. “I dunno if I’m up for a party tonight, mate...” he said, but Robert was already tossing his bag to the opposite side of the couch and walking back to his room. “I have the perfect shirt for you to wear.”

Eames put his hands in his pockets, standing awkwardly at the door as he tried to decide which would be worse, sneaking out while he had the chance and have to explain himself later, or going to the party and potentially feeling uncomfortable for several hours.

“Who all is going?” he called after Robert, head canted to one side.

“What?”

Eames sighed, scrunching his face as he ambled forwards, stopping in Robert’s doorway. Arthur was sitting on Robert’s bed, his arms stretched behind him, propping him up. Eames remembered the first time he’d seen Arthur, back at the beginning of the fall semester. He thought of the threadbare grey tee, his striped sweater with the worn out neckline. Then Robert and his wallet had gotten their hands on him, and the tattered History Day shirt had been replaced with tailored button downs, his sweaters tight and form fitting. Eames had teased him the first time he saw Arthur in skinny jeans, telling him he was one peacoat away from being a complete prep school flamer. He’d kicked at the other boy playfully, Arthur’s dimples on full display as his cheeks pinked.

One of Arthur’s shoulders was cocked up, his pouty lips parted as he looked up at Eames as a red flush crept up his long neck. Eames had to look away, reminded of how Arthur had fixed eyes on him when Eames watched from the other side of the door. Watched him get lowered down and fucked.

“Here!”

Robert jerked a black shirt from a hanger, crossing quickly to Eames and holding it up against him. “Yeah, this should work...it’s big on me so it should fit. Take that off,” he waved his hand at Eames’ jacket and the white tee underneath.

“I don’t think I’m going tonight,” Eames said, handing the shirt back to Robert.

Robert pushed it back at him. “Come on, man, you’ll have fun. All work and no play, you know?”

Eames held the shirt but made no move to put it on.

“Arthur, come on,” Robert huffed, ruffling Arthur’s hair fondly. “Back me up on this, we both want you there.”

Arthur’s face was red now, the side of his lower lip pulled between his teeth. “You should come,” he finally said. “It’ll be fun.”

Robert was back in his closet, drawing out two other shirts and eyeing them carefully. “Come on, you can do better than that, babe!” he said with a laugh. “I’ll buy you any liquor you want, Eames. We never hang out anymore, roomie!”

Arthur drew his arms up and into his lap, his dark eyes careful as they looked up at Eames. “Please come,” he said, his tone almost begging. Then he licked his lips unconsciously, and all Eames could see was Arthur on his knees with cum on his face. “It’ll be fun to hang out.”

Eames finally conceded, going into his own room to change into Robert’s shirt. The black sweater was tight across his chest and arms, the sleeves stopping just below his elbows. It was not his taste at all, not terrible but nothing he would have chosen to wear on his own. He was about to take it off when Robert was there in his doorway wolf whistling.

“Damn, Eames! You look really sexy, I’d totally fuck you.” He winked lewdly and laughed at the comical look of disgust Eames tossed in his direction.

“I look incredibly gay in this.”

“The ladies are going to love it,” Robert countered. “Look at your forearms in that!”

Eames scratched at his chest, eyeing himself again in the mirror before shaking his head and shrugging. “Whatever, I’ll wear it.”

Robert was true to his word, buying pretty much anything Eames even glanced at, and had no problem motioning for Eames to carry the heavy box while he and Arthur carried a few lighter cases of beer.

“Do you need help?” Arthur asked, sidling over to Eames as they walked back to the car.

Eames shook his head. “It’s fine,” he said, eyes focused on the pavement in front of him.

“Are you sure?” Arthur asked again, his voice low. “Maybe I can try to carry it from the car when we get to Ari-”

“It’s fine” Eames said, his tone finite and short in a way he hadn’t really intended it to be.

Arthur nodded curtly, moving a bit faster to catch up with Robert.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Eames took a long gulp from the Jager Redbull Robert had pressed into his hand after Eames had told him that the Vodka raspberry the other boy had offered him was “too fucking gay” while he was still sober. Robert had rolled his eyes, muttering something about straight boys before fetching the new drink. He’d given Eames a victorious smile, asking if this was more up to Eames’ “heteronormative” par. Eames liked neither Redbull or Jagermeister, but he did like distancing himself from sobriety and therefore drank it as quickly as possible.

There were a lot more people than he’d been expecting, some of whom he knew but the rest unfamiliar. He saw Ariadne in the corner, putting her French Lit 1001 class to good use by arguing Proust with boys in skinny jeans. He recognized a few people from his own classes, but didn’t really see anyone he’d talked to before. He saw Nash talking to a few blondes in sky high heels making the same grand hand gestures he’d made when he tried to get Eames to buy his laced pot earlier in the semester at one of Yusuf’s parties. The guy didn’t take hints and was impossible to get rid of, so Eames took his empty cup and made his way to the kitchen to find a new drink.

Ariadne lived in a large house with seven other roommates, a situation Eames himself could never understand the appeal of, but it did allow for large functions such as this. In the kitchen there were bottles spread across the counter tops, and he drummed his fingers absently as he considered them.

“Liquor before beer, in the clear,” he muttered to himself as he selected a bottle of tequila and filled his cup with that and some lemonade he found in a cooler at his feet. He took an experimental sip, then another before filling the cup almost to the rim with more tequila.

“Hey, Eames.”

Eames looked over to see Arthur’s roommate Dom, the blond boy reaching for some flavored vodka and two red plastic cups. “Hey,” he responded in turn, sampling his new concoction. “How’s it going?”

“Pretty good,” Dom said. “That’s some shirt you have on.” He offered Eames two raised brows as he scanned the other boy’s chest and shoulders.

Eames shrugged, his feet shuffling to stand slightly apart as he scoffed, plucking at the black material over his chest. “Fucking Robert,” he said in explanation. “He thinks it’ll help me get a girl. I just didn’t want to hear him whine about it all night if I said no.”

“You look like a fucking GQ model or something,” Dom said, making it sounds more like a criticism than a compliment. “And please, like you need help to get girls. You’re British, man, it’s like kryptonite to American chicks.”

Eames smiled, taking another long sip from his cup.

“Ariadne’s had a crush on you since the beginning of the year,” Dom continued. “I’m sure she’d love that sweater.”

Eames laughed low, his head cocking to the side as he glanced out into the next room where she was still talking with the same group, her hands wild before her face as she made a some point of apparent significance. “She’s a sweet girl,” he said. “But the feelings are not mutual.”

Dom nodded. “Did Arthur come with Robert?” he asked, catching Eames off guard.

Eames nodded, taking another sip. “I haven’t seen him since we got here, though.”

Dom sighed. “Robert’s a good guy and all, but he’s a total social butterfly and sometimes forgets Arthur isn’t. If you see Arthur by himself, could you chat him up or something?”

Eames’ jaw flexed as he ground his teeth, his grip on the plastic cup tightening slightly. “Sure,” he said.

Dom patted him on the shoulder with a “thanks, man” before walking away.

Eames groaned, topping up his cup one last time and delighting in the fact that his head was finally feeling a bit lighter. In the other room, someone turned on some music, the loud bass thumping through the floor. Eames wandered down the stairs to a basement outfitted with various couches, chairs,and bean bags all in various states of wear and tear. Christmas lights were strung up with thumbtacks and cast the room in a warm glow.

He flopped down onto one of the unoccupied beanbags, his legs stretched out as he gazed at the ceiling and listened to the conversations about him. He heard snippets here and there, mostly about movies or how the bitch professor didn’t even list the required readings on the syllabus to force attendance in her class. There was a guy on the far end of the room making crude finger gestures as his obviously virginal friends leaned in and eagerly listened to some likely fictional tale of sexual exploit.

Eames watched a blonde girl walk passed him in a slow and deliberate manner, eying him up and down pointedly before moving on the join another group across the room. She sidled over to another girl and whispered into her ear, the two of them then glancing back to him in a less than conspicuous manner before whispering again.

He sat there and watched the others while he finished his drink, the conversation about him becoming increasingly ridiculous and intolerable. The solitude was appreciated at the moment, but also rather dull and doing nothing to properly distract him. He pulled out his phone and texted Yusuf, asking if he was coming to the party as well. Some time went by with no reply from the other boy, and Eames was beginning to regret agreeing to come. When he'd reached his limit he stood with a sigh, walking back towards to stairs. He definitely needed another drink.

When he got back to the kitchen, Eames decided for forgo the plastic cup and picked up the bottle of tequila, raising it to his lips and taking a hearty swig. His throat burned, mouth warming as he took another drink, wiping his full lips with the back of his hand. The beat from the next room was hard and fast, and he wandered into a dark room illuminated by more christmas lights and a multi colored strobe light on a coffee table.

Eames chugged from the bottle until he felt tears in his eyes from the burn of it. He wiped his mouth with his arm, eyes narrowing when he saw Arthur going up the stairs in the other room. He felt himself take a step forward, his face heating as he realized he had no idea what he was going to say, what he was going to do, but he was still fucking moving. Then he was jostled by a smaller form, and Imogen was raising a hand in apology, doubled forward with laughter at something Ariadne had said to her. Her pale cheeks were dark from excitement, blonde hair wild until she pushed it back with a hand.

“Eames!” she said, drawing in heavy breaths. “How’s it going? Ari and I were just talking about you-” she cried out dramatically when Ariadne slapped her hard in the chest.

“My tit!” she cried, clutching the area with one hand, her mouth slack in shock which might have been genuine irritating if she wasn’t so drunk. “You bitch, that fucking hurt-”

“We were just talking about how we never see you anymore,” Ariadne said, her small mouth tight and eyes wider than seemed natural. “You used to come hang out with Robert all the time.”

“Yeah,” Eames said, scratching idly at his temple and letting his eyebrows climb towards his hairline. “Yeah totally...just been so busy, you know? Class has been a total nightmare this term. Been sort of a in class or in the gym sort of thing-”

“We could tell,” Imogen said, waggling her brows playfully, earning her another cutting glare from Ariadne.

“Nothing personal though, you know,” Eames continued, unable to hide a smile at Imogen’s drunken chiding and Ariadne’s barely maintained composure. They made rather an adorable pair. “We should definitely hang out sometime soon though. Anne and I are going to Blend next Thursday, actually...you guys should come along. Anne’s bringing a friend so we could all go as a group.”

Eames did his best to not grimace at how Ariadne’s face fell at the mention of Anne, but she was quick to smile again, even if her expression was a little too eager and a little too congratulatory.

“You guys are back together, then?” she asked, eyelids fluttering in what Eames knew was an unconscious manner. “That’s great. Yeah....Yeah we’ll totally come. Imogen loves Blend.”

Imogen’s arm was threading through Ariadne’s, encircling her waist. “There’s always cute boys there!” she said, offering Ariadne a little shake. Eames could tell the blond girl was planning their exit, and knit his eyebrows as he raised his bottle.

“Sorry girls, I was a bit too ambitious with this, think I need to mix something in. Text me about Thursday, yeah?”

Ariadne nodded, grimacing comically when Imogen pressed a wet open-mouthed kiss to her cheek. “Yeah, that sounds fun. Thanks for coming tonight, Eames.” She stepped forward awkwardly, as though she meant to hug him. Eames hated to see her looking so unsure, and so he bend down to pull her into a one armed embrace, the gesture fleeting but very much appreciated if her expression was anything to go by. Imogen clasped him on the shoulder before dragging Ariadne away, her arm wrapped protectively around Ari’s slight shoulders as she whispered something into her ear which made Ariadne rub her back in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur was pretty scarce here, but he'll show up more next time. ;)


	3. Inhibitions, Or Lack Thereof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames, Arthur, and Robert go to a house party.

Eames was drunk. He was functional, still standing and watching the others dancing around him and occasionally having some half-hearted conversation with something he didn’t know that well and actually had no intentions of “calling to hang out.” That being said, he was getting pretty fuking drunk. The voices about him were starting to run together, the music thumping over them and sometimes he caught himself moving to the beat, which he would not have bloody well done sober.

He was nursing a screwdriver now, watching the masses of people around him. There were cheers beside him, and he glanced over to see Robert and Imogen pulling Ariadne onto a table to dance to some remixed Rhianna song, Robert obviously quite gone at this point. Robert’s head was tossed back, his sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, and Eames couldn’t help but feel a comfortable warmth at seeing the genuine happiness on Ariadne’s face. Robert had his hands on her shoulders, making her shake her chest until she was falling forward giggling. Eames was just about ready to join them when there was a hand on his hip, and a hot mouth pressed against his ear. 

“You’re so sexy in that shirt.”

Eames turns to see Arthur looking up at him, his eyes unfocused and hooded, but the corner of his lower lip caught between his teeth. He was drunk, that was obvious, and all Eames could think to do was shrug his broad shoulders and pluck at the material over his chest idly. “This is really fucking warm,” he said. “I should have worn a t-shirt. Besides...your roommate said I looked gay.”

Eames tried to force himself not to look down when Arthur’s fingers brushed over his stomach, the motivation behind the touch hard to determine. He felt himself tense up, and swore that even in the crowded room he could hear Arthur inhale sharply. 

“Can I talk to you?” Arthur asked suddenly, his head inclining close to Eames’ to keep the volume of his voice down. “About the other day?”

Eames’ stomach dropped out, his head swimming and before he could even think he was nodding. His fingers clenched against his cup, the cheap plastic crunching slightly. He followed Arthur out of the crowded room, only realizing how warm he really was when he was walking down the basement steps. There was no one else down in the basement living area, but Arthur kept walking passed the mismatched couches to a door at the other end of the room. He rapped on it twice, listening for half a second before opening the door. He stepped into a room with two futons folded up into couches, and a desk with a CD player and stacks of CDs standing beside it. The room smelled overwhelmingly of pot, making Eames bark out a laugh as he looked about. 

“Jesus,” he said, reaching behind the CDs to pull out a bong. “So this is why Ari is such a fucking homebody.”

Arthur smiled, thumbing through some of the music before withdrawing a slim case with “Ari’s Gangsta Beats Junior High” written on the front in a loopy scrawl. “Well this looks promising,” he said, flicking the boom box open and setting the CD inside. They both grimaced when P Diddy came on, but neither moved to turn it off. 

Eames lifted his head when he heard the door shut, and turned to see Arthur standing in front of the closed door awkwardly, one arm folded carefully across his chest and the other holding his cup. 

“So the other day...” he began, brows knit. He looked so small standing there. Eames was pretty sure Arthur would look 17 when he was 30, what with his smooth face and his fucking dimples. Right now he looked like a lost little boy, and Eames just didn’t want to hear what Arthur was going to say. He just wanted to forget. 

“It’s fine,” Eames said, his shoulders rounding forwards with a shrug. “You didn’t say anything to Robert, did you?”

Arthur shook his head. “He’d have thought it was hilarious....but I didn’t want him to give you a hard time. I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable around us...you know? You’ve been gone all week and I don’t want you to think you have to avoid us-”

“Look,” Eames cut him off. “It wasn’t anything I wanted to see, but I’ll get over it, ok? I wasn’t avoiding you, I was...” Eames scratched his head, eyes squinting and glancing up to the water-stained ceiling. “I guess I was a bit, but it was just fucking shocking. Like, I know you guys are together but...Fuck I didn’t think I’d ever actually see it.”

Arthur’s face was beet red, and Eames was certain he was no better off. He glanced up at Arthur and immediately saw him with his head back and mouth open, crying out as he moved atop Robert. Eames shook his head, taking a long drink before holding his hands up. “Let’s not fucking talk about this, ok? It’s weird. Robert’s fine, you’re fine...let’s just be normal again, ok?” He was nodding like an idiot, suddenly realizing he’d been stepping closer to Arthur while he spoke. Arthur was nodding too, eyes wide and as something unreadable flashed over them. 

“It’s not as weird as you in that shirt” Arthur conceded, gulping a mouthful of his colorful drink. He was smiling with those fucking dimples, and Eames found it unbearably contagious. 

“I thought you said this shirt was sexy?” he asked, running a hand down his abs with a toothy grin. He must be fucking drunk, cause the heavy lidded look Arthur directed at his hand should have made him run for the hills or at the very least, back upstairs.

“It is,” Arthur said, more exhalation of breath than actual words. “It’s just odd to see it on you...Robert used to wear it all the time, but he didn’t-” Arthur moved his hands in and out like he was playing an accordion. “Fill it out...like you do.”

“Are you calling me fat?” Eames asked, pretending to be taken aback before slumping onto one of the futons. He hissed as some of his drink sloshed over the rim of his rather abused plastic cup, and he raised his hand to lick the wetness from the side of his hand. 

Arthur laughed, his dimples making an unfair appearance. He sat on the other futon, propping one foot against the one Eames sat on. “You’re an idiot,” he said, his fond tone even clearer with his intoxication. Arthur was often guarded, not rude but careful; cautious. Eames had often thought it was a reason he liked Robert, as they evened each other out. Opposites attract, they say. He looked down into his cup, considering whether or not to pound the rest down in one go or keep it as something to hold. 

“I hope he knows this was a one time thing,” Eames said, raising his cup to his lips. “You might like posh boy look, but it’s not really my style.” He’d intended the comment to be funny, but Arthur wasn’t smiling now, his head instead bowed and his cheeks flushing rosy. He took several gulps, the room becoming uncomfortably quiet. Eames was about to apologise when Arthur finally spoke. 

“I grew up with my grandma,” he said, his voice quiet. “She didn’t have much, so I had a job since I was like 11 to help with the bills, but never had much left over, you know? Then...Robert shows up and suddenly people start being respectful, and I can dress like I always wanted to look...I know it might sound stupid to you, but I’m grateful.”

Eames was leaning forward on his knees now, drunkenness making him bold. “He didn’t make you better, Arthur, he just-” he waved his hand in the other boy’s direction. “Gave you some flash decorations. But he shouldn’t have acted like there was something wrong with you. You were fine before, man. Don’t buy into Robert’s bullshit.”

Arthur shook his head. “Robert’s a good guy,” he said, a hand outstretched to implore Eames to listen. “He doesn’t do stuff to be mean, he really wants to make people happy...he just...his fuckin’ dad is always trying to “mold” him, you know? Like to make him a “better” person. Robby hates it, and he never thinks he’s good enough, but then he does the same shit to me.” Arthur sighed, leaning back against the futon and finished his drink, crinkling the cup in first one hand and then the other. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “He doesn’t know any better,” he finally said.

“My girlfriend never got it either,” Eames said, elbows on his knees. “She always asked how I could stand working in a video store, or Mcdonalds. But it was a fucking job, you know? It paid the bills.”

Arthur was looking at him now, his eyes so big as he watched him and listened. Then he was smiling, it was small but reached his eyes. “What was the worst job you ever had?” he asked, crumpling his cup and tossing it towards the trash can.

Eames was all toothy grin now, a hand raising to scratch at the back of his neck sheepishly. “I worked in this bar, and the job itself wasn’t that bad, but I was on clean detail, and there were not enough gloves in the world for some of that shit, man. Like...we’re talking semen...or someone taking a shit in the urinal, or worse.”

“That’s fucking nasty,” Arthur said, covering his mouth to hide his grin. “How old were you?”

Eames shrugged. “Like, 17. It wasn’t entirely legal, but I looked old enough and it wasn’t the kind of place where they cared about regulations...or health codes.”

Arthur shuddered dramatically, his head lolling to the side. “I don’t feel so bad about the shit I did now,” he said. “I can safely say none of my jobs involved semen...”

“I’ve probably touched more than you, homo,” Eames said without malice, throwing a pillow at him.

Arthur’s laugh was genuine, spilling almost like a cough as he scooted over to avoid the cushion. He stood, walking to the CD player and cranking the volume a bit. “I’m sick of this fucking party,” he said, almost shy when he glanced over at Eames. “Want to just hang out down here for a while?”

Eames shrugged. “Sure,” he said, hard to stay casual and cool in his current state. “But only if you change the song, this shit is awful.”

“I know, right!” Arthur agreed, pressing the skip button. The unmistakable intro to Ol’ Dirty Bastard’s Got Your Money filled the small room, and both boys were instantly on their feet, Eames rather shocked that Arthur could sing along word for word, if a bit off key. Eames felt himself begin to dance, happily showing off his moves to Arthur’s delighted claps and catcalls, even slowing down so the other boy could try to copy him. Both were laughing by the time the song was replaced with Shimmy Shimmy, Eames was showing Arthur how to flail about in true chav fashion until the other boy was practically doubled over with laughter.

Arthur was then flailing, racing to turn it up even further until Ginuwine was blasting. “This is my fucking jam!” Arthur said loudly over the music. “Pony always brings out my inner skank.”

Eames was laughing, the backbeat thrumming in his ears. “Oh yeah?” he asked, eyebrow quirked in challenge. “Let’s see it then.”

Arthur started out exaggeratedly rolling his hips, popping them back like a proper video ho. Eames’ mouth was hanging open, chest heaving as he laughed. Arthur was still smiling, dimples deep in his cheeks as bent at the waist until he was touching the floor, ass shaking.

“Jesus, lookit you!” Eames cackled, hand covering his crooked teeth. Arthur stumbled a bit as he stood up. It didn’t stop him though, and he was laughing, singing along with the chorus.

Arthur grabbed him by the front of the shirt, jerking him forwards before spinning and pressing his ass back against Eames’ dick and then he was rubbing, his hips swaying in time to the beat before rolling. Eames’ mouth hung open, throat constricting as Arthur ground against him. He managed a shaky laugh but then Arthur was popping back, the clothed crest of his ass riding along the length of Eames’ prick and then Eames couldn’t fucking breathe.


	4. Chapter 4

Eames shuddered, cold flooded through him leaving a static tingle in its wake. He couldn’t move, instead standing stock still with his hands hovering beside Arthur’s hips, practically shaking. He felt lightheaded when Arthur reached an arm back and found the nape of Eames’ neck, pulling him closer as he arched his back and swiveled his hips. Eames moaned at the feel of Arthur’s firm and round little ass rubbing against him, heat pooling in his groin and through the fog of it he knew he should have been horrified that he was getting hard. Instead, he rocked his hips forward, hissing at the satisfying way he connected with Arthur. 

Arthur’ fingers curled against the back of his neck, the angle awkward without hindering the overall effect. His movements were beginning to still though as Eames built up a rhythm against him, the larger boy’s hands finally moving to grip Arthur by the hips and pull him back to  
meet his thrusts. He kept his ass tipped up, rising up on his toes for Eames to reach him better, but Eames couldn’t get enough, needed more. His vision swam, and he pulled Arthur closer to try and steady himself but the other boy was too wobbly and almost sent them both to the floor. 

Arthur tried to turn in his arms, his eyes heavily hooded, and before Eames knew what he was doing, he was pressing Arthur down onto the nearest futon with a hand on his slender throat, fitting between the other boy’s legs so he could rut against him. His cock was almost uncomfortably swollen in his jeans, but the electric warmth in his belly forced his hips to keep humping up against Arthur until the other boy’s head was tilted back, his eyelids fluttering. Arthur moaned, the sound barely audible over the music but still enough to make Eames’ ears burn, and he knew he was close. 

He dipped his head down, breath panting from his open mouth until his lips were just above the side of Arthur’s mouth, hovering. Arthur turned his head to meet him and then their lips were touching. It wasn’t really a kiss, but it sent a shot of warmth straight to Eames’ cock. Arthur’s mouth opened and Eames slipped his tongue inside, flickering lazily over the slick heat of Arthur’s tongue. 

Then Arthur’s hands were on his chest, and it took Eames a moment to realize they were pushing. He was pushing Eames away and murmuring his name, his brows knit with both lust and concern. 

“Stop, Eames...we have to stop.”

Eames finally stopped, breathing hard as he looked down and saw Arthur beneath him as if for the first time. He was frozen, realization finally dawning on him of what they’d been doing, and what more he’d been prepared to do in the moment. His erection still pressed against Arthur, only now he was acutely aware of Arthur’s own hardness pressing against him as well. Eames shot up quickly, the room around him spinning at the sudden movement. He was suddenly hyper aware of Arthur’s legs spread wide against him, of his own fucking erection which strained painfully against his unforgiving jeans, of the wetness from his own spit shiny on Arthur’s lips. 

“We can’t do this,” Arthur said, his brows furrowed, face draining of color while his ears still burned red. “Robert...”

Eames stood, stumbling backwards in his haste. He pushed down hard on his cock with one hand, the flood of nerves and shame washing over him thankfully reducing the swelling there a bit. He couldn’t look Arthur in the eye, instead fixing his gaze on the other boy’s chest which rose and fell with his labored breaths. His fingers pushed back through his hair as he shook his head. “What the fuck” he muttered. “What the fuck!”

Arthur was standing now, approaching Eames with raised palms. His tight sweater was rucked up on one side, the shirt beneath it raised as well to expose just a hint of smooth skin at his hip. He smoothed it down with a slightly shaking hand, his head bowed as he moved closer to Eames. He wiped at his shiny mouth with the heel of his hand, his pouty lower lip dragged slightly with it. The hand stayed there at the side of his mouth though, resting against the spot where Eames’ mouth had hovered. He licked his lips and parted them, looking ready to speak but staying silent. Eames couldn’t look away, fixed on those lips. 

There was a loud banging at the door, followed immediately by breathless giggles and muffled voices. “Who’s in here?”

Both Eames and Arthur’s heads whipped to the door, but Eames relaxed a bit when he realized it was the dynamic duo, Ariadne and Imogen. They kept slamming their hands against the door, catcalling and whooping like idiots. Imogen’s voice broke through “are you fucking in there?” quickly followed by Ariadne’s quieter “Oh my god, ew! They better not be, those futons are my brother’s.”

“Fluids!” Imogen said dramatically, but muffled enough it was probably directed more to Ariadne. “Vaginal secretions!” There was only a half second before she bumped against the door and screamed. They were both laughing now, but making no effort to actually enter the room. 

Eames stood stock still, his throat so tight he almost couldn’t breathe. He quickly pulled at the hem of the sweater, yanking it back down into place. Arthur was adjusting himself as well, even reaching down to shift himself in his underwear. He looked up at Eames, finally, his bowed in uncertainty before he stepped forward and raised a hand to the larger boy. Eames jerked away from his touch, not knowing what Arthur intended and also not trusting himself with the contact. Arthur shrank back, looking almost afraid of being hit before a hurt and regret replaced the fear. He resignedly walked to the door and opened it.

“You two are fucking stupid,” he said, forcing a half smile as he reached forward to catch Imogen before fell over now that the support she had been leaning against was gone. “It’s just me and Eames in here, calm down.”

Ariadne was visibly relieved. “Thank god...I mean my brother can deal with bong water, but I think he might actually kill me if I got jizz on his futon.”

“You two are fucking boring, sitting in here like old men,” Imogen said, tapping Arthur on the cheek before righting herself with an exaggerated flip of her hair. “We actually were trying to find you,” she told him, muttering a little “thanks” when Arthur ran his thumb under her eye to clean up her smudged makeup. 

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Robert’s super hammered,” Ariadne said, scrunching her face for emphasis. “Like...I think he legit passed out upstairs.”

“Fuck,” Arthur muttered, tugging down on his sweater once more in what looked like an unconscious gesture. “When did this happen?”

“Like, ten minutes ago,” Ariadne said. “We made sure he was breathing and everything, he’s just drunk as fuck...figured I’d come find you though and make sure you had a way home.”

Arthur nodded, glancing back at Eames before following Ariadne out of the bedroom with Imogen pushing him from behind. Eames swallowed hard, rubbing his hands over his face before forcing himself to follow, knowing there was no way Arthur would get Robert home without him. 

The party was starting to dwindle, tired students slumped together on the various furniture and some on their phones organizing a ride. Robert was easy enough to find, the other boy leaning heavily on Arthur, who was staggering under his dead weight. Eames ambled over, plucking up one of Robert’s limp arms and pulling it over his shoulder. 

“I’ve got him,” Arthur said, clutching his boyfriend about the waist to keep his close. 

Eames gave him a sympathetic smile before hiking Robert up against himself further. “Come on, Robbie,” he said playfully, winking at Ariadne. “Let’s get you home.” Robert groaned, his head lolling forward. He could hear Arthur talking quietly to Ari, and saluted a goodbye before hauling Robert out of the house. Robert mumbled nonsensically, his arm clenching how and then against Eames’ neck, but overall he was a dead weight. Eames considered picking him up and tossing him over his shoulder fireman style, but worried it would empty the other boy’s stomach. 

He heard the door shut over his shoulder, and soon Arthur was there at Robert’s other side, digging in his boyfriend’s pocket for his keys. Eames paused to make his task easier, but eyed Arthur carefully when the other boy moved ahead wordlessly to open Robert’s car. 

“You’re not driving,” Eames said.

“You’re drunk too,” Arthur said, not bothering to look back while he opened the back door and driver’s side. 

“Arthur.”

Arthur ignored him, instead sliding into the driver’s seat. “Can you sit back there with him in case he needs help?”

“Arthur.” Eames said again, adjusting his hold on a mumbling Robert and fighting down the urge to reach out and and take hold of Arthur’s arm, force the other boy to look at him. 

Arthur slid into the seat before finally swinging his head around towards Eames, his jaw set in what looked like an effort to keep quiet and look composed. His face was flushed from more than just the alcohol, his darting eyes betraying just how flustered he truly was. The other boy narrowed his eyes to glare at his, his jaw tight. 

“Robert would probably rather be back here with you, man,” Eames said again, moving Robert towards the back seat before helping him in. Arthur still didn’t move, but when Eames had finally wrestled the seatbelt over Robert’s slouched form, he looked over to see Arthur opening the driver’s side door, going all the way around the car so as not the walk past Eames. He got into the car next to Robert, his face softening when the other boy lolled his head against his shoulder, mumbling nonsensically. Eames shut the door and got behind the wheel, the keys stuck in the ignition. He took a deep breath, knowing he probably shouldn’t be driving, but then again their little encounter had been...sobering. 

Eames drove carefully, trying to keep his eyes on the road but unable to keep himself from stealing little glances back at Arthur and Robert. Arthur had Robert’s head on his shoulder, his own head tilted back against the seats to expose the length of his throat. Eames licked his lips, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. Once he caught Arthur’s eyes in the mirror, the other boy giving his head a small shake before glancing to Robert’s sleeping form. Eames kept his eyes forwards the rest of the ride, not wanting to give Arthur the wrong impression. He just wish he had a clearer picture of what the wrong impression really was. 

Back at the dorms, Arthur stubbornly pulled Robert out of the car himself, stumbling over the drunken dead weight of the other boy while Robert murmured nonsensical apologies to him, messily trying to kiss his cheek. Arthur wound Robert’s arm about his neck, irritation creeping into his voice as he ushered his boyfriend towards the door. 

Eames followed them a pace or two behind, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders rounded forwards. He finally helps when they get to the door, holding it open with his foot while Arthur drags Robert inside, his breath leaving in short bursts through his nose. The student manning the front desks glances up from the gossip rag and bag of cheetos to watch them blankly before looking looking down again, bringing another bright orange snack to her mouth with a roll of her eyes. 

They stand in front of the elevator side by side, watching the numbers slowly drop down to the lobby. Robert suddenly swayed, falling backwards and taking Arthur with him. Eames jerked out on reflex, managing to catch Robert by his jacket before he fell on his ass. “Ok, Robert,” he huffed, pulling one of the boy’s arms over his broad shoulders. “Almost home, buddy, ok?”

Arthur stood beside him, his arms folded over his chest and his eyes downcast. Eames could see his jaw clenching when the bell dinged but tried to ignore him. He managed Robert’s weight easily, the other boy drooping but supported. Arthur accepted the help silently, opting instead to open the door to the dorm room with Robert’s keys and beelining for his boyfriend’s room. Eames carried Robert to the room, finding Arthur there sifting through a bucket in the boy’s closet. He settled Robert down onto the bed and looked up to see Arthur standing there with a bottle of aspirin. 

“Could you get him some water?” Arthur tossed over his shoulder, already stooping down to unlace Robert’s shoes. He didn’t bother to look back, his shoulders tense as he worked. Eames did as he asked, grabbing a bottle from the mini fridge in their commons area. He eyed the bottle of vodka they had chilling at the top, considering it for a second before grabbing it. He ambled over to Robert’s room again, holding the bottle out to Arthur. He’d gotten Robert’s pants and shirt off and had managed to roll him up onto his pillow. Eames could hear the drunk boy snoring softly, his mouth hanging open in a manner which Robert himself would be horrified by were he sober. 

“Thanks.” Arthur took the bottle from Eames, his eyes downcast and lips slightly parted. He inhaled sharply, teeth worrying his lip as he flashed his eyes up before looking away again, walking over to Robert and sinking down to his side. He shook him hard, whispering his name until the boy groaned groggily. Eames turned as Arthur put two white pills into Robert’s mouth, opening the bottle as he made his way to his own room. He took a long drink, switching on his small desk lamp and casting a soft glow over the room. 

The bed dipped beneath him as he sat, his elbows settling heavy against his knees. Eames sighed, one broad hand wiping down over his face before he took another drink. The quiet room unfortunately was far too conducive to thought, and that was the absolute last thing Eames wanted to do. His lips tingled with the memory of Arthur’s brushing against him, and he rubbed the heel of his hand over them to chase the memory away. The liquor burned going down, but didn’t clear his head fast enough. His fist clenched and unclenched before finally finding his cellphone and scrolling for Anne’s name. He barely stopped himself from throwing the phone against the wall in frustration as he realized he had no idea what he’d say to her, that there was nothing he could say at the moment. He could blame everything on Arthur if he hadn’t gotten hard, but he fucking had. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been that hard, except maybe when he’d jerked off in the shower after seeing-

Eames groaned aloud, reaching for his ipod and earbuds. If he couldn’t clear his head, he’d bloody well fill it with something else. 

 

The next morning, Eames woke to rumpled sheets, a dead ipod, and sticky boxers. Jesus, what was he, 13? He took off his underwear and pulled on a pair of clean looking sweatpants from his laundry hamper. He could hear faint noises outside his door and realized at least one of the other two boys was awake. He rubbed his hands over his face, too thirsty and hungry to just hide out in his room as he wanted to at the moment. Eames decided to just beeline for the fridge and then go back to his room and watch movies on his laptop. 

The plan was a good one until he opened the door and found both Arthur and Robert on the couch, their heads turning almost in unison to see him standing there awkwardly. Eames really wished he’d put on a shirt before opening the door, and couldn’t help but notice the way Arthur’s tongue darted out to wet his lips when he took in his bare torso. Robert was curled up at the corner of the couch, propped up by pillows with a blanket tucked up around his neck and a fizzing cup of what looked like Ginger Ale sitting on the coffee table before him. Arthur’s knees were tucked up against his chest, a remote control in his hands. He ducked his head, tucking his hair behind his ear as he looked deliberately back towards the TV where he was playing Batman. 

“Hey there big man,” Eames said, forcing a toothy grin at Robert. “How’s the head?”

Robert groaned dramatically, his eyes fluttering shut as his head fell back against the pillows. “I feel like ass,” he huffed, shifting under his comforter. “My head was pounding when i got up, but Arthur gave me some meds and got me some ginger ale.” He snuck a foot out to nudge against Arthur’s side, offering him a lip pursed air kiss. 

“I grabbed muffins too....if you, you know, want one,” Arthur said, his voice small as he glanced up again at Eames. 

Robert reached out with his foot again, lifting the hem of Arthur’s shirt as he rubbed him. “Baby...could you get me some dry cereal or something?” He pouted his lips comically and nestled the blanket further around his neck. 

Arthur nodded, handing Robert the controller before standing and moving across the small room to the plastic shelf where Robert and Eames stored their food. He grabbed a box of Apple Jacks and tore open the top, keeping his back to Eames. Robert was now focused on the TV, pressing idly at the controller without too much interest. Eames moves towards him, his throat tight with things he wants to say but instead he just comes to stand behind Arthur, staring at the back of the other boy’s head. Arthur turned with the mug he’d filled with the cereal and almost slammed into Eames. He looked up at the larger boy with knit brows, nervous as he shook his head when Eames opened his mouth to say something. He weaved around Eames carefully and went back to Robert, handing the other boy the mug before slumping down onto the couch. 

Robert looked down into the mug and frowned. “Don’t we have any Quaker Oats left?”

Arthur shook his head. “There’s just the Life and Cranberry clusters...”

Robert looked glumly down into his cup, his upper lip curling as he looked at the brightly colored cereal inside. 

“You having a strop, Robbie?” Eames asked, unscrewing his juice and downing almost a fifth in one go. “Being a bit of a princess?”

Robert snorted, tilting his head back until he could see the other boy. “I just want a snack,” he said petulantly. “Nothing looks good.”

“Well I already poured it,” Arthur said, his fingers flying over the remote. “So you’ll just have to eat it.”

“It’s just one bowl,” Robert said, leaving his blanket cocoon just enough to put the mug on that take. “I’m not eating that, though, it looks awful. Let’s just have stuff delivered.”

“Eat your leftover pizza from the other night,” Arthur countered. “That’s not going to be good for much longer, anyway.”

Robert flopped back against the couch, his lips pursed again. “That’s been in there for like two days, babe, you know I don’t like leftovers...come on I’ll buy. Eames, you want a sandwich or something?”

A rosy flush crept over Arthur’s cheeks and he made an explicit point not to look over at Robert again. Robert didn’t seem to notice, and even went on to ask Arthur if he wanted anything while he took out his phone. Arthur shook his head, still not looking over at Robert. The other boy was not phased, instead glancing back at Eames for an answer. Eames held up his muffin in response, which made Robert sigh. 

“Just me then” he said, scrolling through his phone until he found the number he was looking for and made his order. 

Eames crossed over to the table, picking up the mug of cereal and settling into the disk chair next to the couch. Arthur glanced over at him from under dark lashes. “You don’t have to eat that,” he said quietly. 

Eames popped a few orange pieces into his mouth with a cheeky grin. “Always did like these,” he offered. 

“See,” Robert said, knocking Arthur’s knee with his own as he stood. “All fixed.” He disappeared into his bedroom and grabbed his wallet. “I’m gonna rent a movie from the front desk while I wait, you want anything babe?”

Arthur shrugged. “Something with hot guys and explosions?”

“And some titties for Eames, maybe?” Robert tittered, ruffling Arthur’s hair fondly. “Be right back.”

As soon as the door was shut, Arthur was glancing over at Eames, his looks small and discreet but unmistakable considering how focused Eames was on him. He took a big bite of the muffin, his eyes narrowing as he tried to decipher what Arthur could possibly be holding back, what he was thinking. He knew they wouldn’t have too long, but the silence was already giving him far too much opportunity to think about what Arthur had felt like against him, under him.

“I hate it when he does this,” Arthur softly said, his voice cutting through Eames’ train of thought. “I know he has the money and all, but the waste thing just bothers me...but that’s just how he is, I guess. If he wants something, he gets it, you know?”

Eames shrugged, noting that Arthur still hadn’t looked over at him, but wasn’t really playing his game either. His character had died and the “Try again?” question was on the faded screen. He waited for Arthur to continue, but the other boy sat quietly now, his arms going to wrap around his legs and leaving the controller sitting beside him on the couch. 

“I can’t really get mad at Robbie,” Eames admitted, still chewing on the cereal. “I mean...he's a pain in the ass with a silver spoon handicap, but he's harmless.”

Arthur grimaced at this, the look fleeting but visible enough. He worried the side of his lip, finally turning his body towards the other boy and drawing a pillow to his lap. “He didn’t deserve what happened last night,” he murmured, just loud enough for Eames to hear.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has not been betaed

Eames immediately felt his face heat and his jaw clench. “You’re making a lot out of nothing” He looked down into the mug with a purse of his thick lips. “We were drunk, there’s really nothing else to say.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes at him skeptically, his shoulders squaring in the other boy’s direction. “Really? That was just what....par for the course drunk behavior for you? Dry humping your roommate’s boyfriend?”

“You grind your ass like that on every guy you dance with?” Eames snapped icily, head tilting down so he could glare at Arthur over the bridge of his nose. 

Arthur shifted closer to Eames as he struggled to keep his voice down. “I can take my share of blame, but don’t you fucking try and pretend like I forced you to do anything. You pushed me down onto that couch all on your own.”

Eames felt heat rushing through his arms and chest, his palms suddenly feeling clammy and he forced himself to maintain Arthur’s steady gaze, boring into him with narrowed eyes. “What are you fucking implying, Arthur?”

“Nothing,” Arthur returned just as frostily, the simple word conveying far more than it would otherwise indicate. 

“I don’t do shit like that,” Eames finally said. “I’ve never done something like that before, if that’s what you think.”

Much to his surprise, Arthur instantly softened, his shoulders deflating just enough to lose their antagonistic edge. He almost looked sad sitting there, and Eames felt a hint of anger at what he thought looked like pity on the other boy’s open face. Arthur drew one knee to his chest and hugged it, his pouty lips gently parted as though there was something on wanted to say which he was holding back. “I thought about you.”

Eames looked up at him carefully, his eyes narrowing. Arthur didn’t take the look for the sign to stop talking he was meant to, though, and continued on. 

“After you walked in on us...” Arthur looked down now, his cheeks flushing. “That time on the couch...” He looked up at Eames as though he was waiting for a sign that he understood the event Arthur was referring to, as though he could ever have forgotten look on Arthur’s face when he saw Eames watching them fuck. 

Arthur was watching him again now, his arms tightening about his leg and face looking so goddam boyish and earnest Eames almost couldn’t stand looking at him. His entire body felt taut to the point of snapping, anticipating the other boy’s next words. 

“I can’t get you out of my head.”

Robert’s key scratched at the door before the latch turned, giving them a bare second to compose themselves. Arthur practically fell back against the other end of the couch, pressing a button on the controller to bring his game back onto the screen. Eames took a massive bite of his muffin, crumbs falling from his lips as Robert walked in, plastic bag and cup in hand. 

“Try to contain your jealousy,” he trilled, flopping down onto the couch beside Arthur, pulling a heaping cheese steak sandwich wrapped in parchment paper out. “But I’ll be nice and give you a bite if you give me a little kiss.” Robert inclined his face towards Arthur, cocky smile pouting his lips. Arthur rolled his eyes but couldn’t hold back his own grin at the way Robert batted his lashes. He reached forward with a hand and pushed the other boy’s face away with a sigh and stood. “No kiss for you, you spoiled idiot...I’m gonna go eat your leftovers.”

Robert caught him about the waist and dragged him into his lap, pressing rapid little kisses against his throat until Arthur rolled his eyes but smiled begrudgingly. Eames watched them, occupying himself with his food as best he could so he wouldn’t be expected to say anything, but he couldn’t ignore the tightness in his stomach when he saw the dimples crowning Arthur’s sunny smile. 

Eames’ knee began to bounce in irritation when Arthur leaned down and gently kissed Robert’s lips with a little sigh. “No tongue,” he said, holding up a finger when Robert tried it. “You’re still on time out.” He carefully extricated himself walked rigidly to the fridge, setting himself about with warming his pizza. 

“Too much?” Robert asked, and it took Eames a bare moment to realize the question was directed at him. He raised an eyebrow in confusion, his cereal hovering before his mouth. 

“You look a bit angry. Should we let you wake up before subjecting you to so much PDA?” Robert was grinning at him looking quite pleased with himself. Eames shrugged, unable to help the glance he made at Arthur, who was most certainly not looking back at him. 

“Settle it down a little bit,” Eames finally said. “Or at least let me get some tea before you get into a heavy petting session.” He could tell from the laugh this earned from Robert that the other boy registered his cheek, and was grateful as he was not in a mood to be too playful. He’d just filled his mouth with more cereal when Robert grabbed the control and patted the tabletop before him. 

“So after I get a good brew in you I can throw him on his back and have at him?”

The dry cereal he’d been chewing flew back down his windpipe, leaving Eames hunched forward while he coughed and hacked as he choked. “Fucking-christ-” he wheezed, steadying himself with one hand on the table while the other splayed over his chest. He could feel his cheeks burning red hot, his ears tingling with the heat spreading over them. A vision of Arthur on his back atop the table flashed through his mind, and Eames doubted his roommate would look so fucking amused if he knew Eames was picturing himself fucking Arthur, holding him down with a hand to his throat while Arthur cried out breathlessly as he was jerked back and forth at a brutal pace. 

A glass was pushed in his face, and Eames looked up with watery eyes to see Arthur extending him a drink, resting a hand at his nape and rubbing to calm him. Eames accepted the drink but brushed his hand away roughly, jerking to the other side of his chair. 

Arthur jerked his hand away, glancing over to Robert, but his boyfriend was already sitting back on the couch fiddling with the controller in between messy bites. He turned back to the microwave, and Eames could hear him fussing about before he finally sat down next to Robert, putting his boyfriend between himself and Eames. He tucked his legs up under him, his shoulders hunched forwards, nibbling at his food with masked disinterest. 

Robert tossed the controller down onto the table with a n energetic sigh. “I rented Beetlejuice, you guys wanna watch it?”

“Sure,” Arthur said, extending his legs to rest them on the coffee table. 

“Eames?”

Eames shrugged, managing a weak smile. “Not seen that since I was little, used to scare the hell out of me.”

“Perfect.” Robert flashed a delighted toothy grin, reaching into the plastic bag which had held his food and pulling out a DVD case. “Suck it up and give it a try, big boy!”

Eames waited until Robert’s back was turned to sneak a glance at Arthur, only to find the boy already looking at him. Arthur immediately looked away, tucking his hair back behind his ear. “They had this down at the front desk? We don’t have that in our building - but our place is a dump...our front card reader hasn’t worked for like two weeks, can you believe it?”

Robert’s head whipped back over his shoulder, his brows knit together. “What? You didn’t tell me that...no one’s fixed it?”

Arthur shrugged. “I mean all the rooms have latchkeys, it’s not like you can get into them without the keys. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, Arthur.” Robert’s voice had gone authoritative, and from the sour expression on Arthur’s face it was not the first time he’d been exposed to it. “That’s completely unacceptable. Ariadne moved out of the dorms cause of those break ins last year, there was that girl who got raped-”

“I’m not gonna get raped, Robert, chill out.”

Robert rolled his eyes. “That’s not it, babe, it’s their job to provide you with safety and adequate accommodations. That super in your building doesn’t deserve his job if he lets shit like this go on, and if his job is so inconvenient to him I’d be more than happy to see he loses it.”

“Ok Maurice,” Arthur said flippantly, eyes cast down at the table. 

Eames sat stock still in his chair, one foot on the opposite knee. His gaze had flickered between the two of them, sure Robert would be angry from the tone Arthur used, but Robert paled, his eyes widening like he’d been slapped. He raked his fingers through his thick hair, appearing quite the little boy, which was a look Eames hadn’t seen on his roommate before. 

“It’s just serious, Arthur,” he finally said. “I love you and I worry about you. Sometimes you just are so blase about things...”

“Can we just not talk about this?” Arthur finally asked, his jaw tense. “Sorry I even brought it up, ok? Eames doesn’t want to hear us fight, anyway.”

Robert glanced at Eames now, like he’d forgotten the other boy was in the room. He smiled, the expression forced but pleasant as he nodded. He put the DVD in before sitting next to Arthur, his back turned a bit to Eames. He spoke so quietly Eames could barely make out his words, especially when the DVD menu popped on, but Eames could hear the murmured “I’m sorry babe....I didn’t mean to talk at you like that...forgive me?” And then Eames could see Arthur nodding, thick lashes lowered as he looked at the floor and allowed Robert to wrap an arm around his shoulders and press a soft kiss to his cheek. Eames looked away, his eyes fixing onto the screen. He used the game controller to start the movie, resting the arches of his feet against the rim of the coffee table. 

“Jesus, I forgot how eighties this movie is,” Arthur said when the two main characters appeared on screen. He scooted himself down the couch to lay with his head propped on Robert’s thigh, waving a hand to where Robert’s feet were resting. “I can’t see,” informed him with a pout. Robert pulled his feet down, urging Arthur to sit up so he could lie back,patting between his legs for Arthur to lie back down again. Arthur ended up draped over his boyfriend, his head on Robert’s belly and their legs tangled. 

Eames found himself distracted, unable to keep his eyes on the screen any time Arthur moved atop Robert, when he rubbed his cheek against Robert’s belly, rested one hand atop Robert’s chest. When he was done with his lunch, Robert lowered a hand to card his fingers through Arthur’s hair, resting gently atop his boyfriend’s head. Eames swallowed hard, his fists tightening as Arthur nuzzled against Robert’s belly to seemingly scratch the side of his nose, sighing as he pressed his cheek once more against the boy. In Eames’ head though, Arthur had kept going, sliding his lips down. He imagined Arthur laying on his front like that, his mouth descending Robert’s erect prick...but then he was Robert, laying back on the couch and watching Arthur’s head bob up and down on his cock. Arthur moaning around his dick as Eames thrust up into his mouth. 

Arthur and Robert were laughing then, talking to each other about something happening in the damn movie which Eames was too distracted to actually pay attention to. He felt heat rush to his groin when he realized Arthur was looking up at him from where he lay, his brows furrowed. The slight raise in volume from his normal tone of voice indicated this was not the first time he’d spoken to Eames. 

“Do you not like the movie?”

Eames shook his head, shifting in the seat. “Naw, it’s good...just getting a headache and thinking about having a lie down.” He felt his cock beginning to harden in his pants as Arthur nodded with a disappointed pout, his eyes catching on the curve of Arthur’s ass as he lay back down. 

“There’s aspirin in my room if you need some,” Robert tossed over his shoulder as Eames slunk out of his seat, cupping a hand over his swelling cock to try and push it down as soon as his back was turned. He moved towards his room quick as he could, locking the door behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay on this. It's been a really rough year. There's been some serious medical issues in the family and a death. It's been hard to concentrate on anything so this has been slow going. The chapter isn't beta-ed, so I hope it's not too much of a mess. Just felt bad nothing had been posted in so long, so please let me know if there's anything glaring. Thanks for the continued patience to anyone still reading and please be patient with me a bit more.

Chapter 6

 

Eames fell back onto his bed with a groan, covering his eyes with a clammy palm. His cock was pressing against the thick fleece of his sweats, tenting them out in a ridiculous manner. He cupped himself gingerly, hissing at the tingle that shot through him. Eames rolled to his side, finding his cellphone on the nightstand and scrolling for Anne’s number. Straight to voicemail....fuck.

He didn’t bother to leave a message, instead setting the phone back down and flopping onto his pillow. The thick curtains blocked out most of the sunlight, leaving him in relative darkness. He gently squeezed his cock and balls, the clothed flesh soft in his hand. Eames barely realizing he’d slipped his hand beneath his sweats until his silky prick was hot in his hand. He stroked himself languidly, his eyes sliding shut and his thick mouth parted as he panted quietly as possible. His whole body felt flushed, the heat in his cheeks only outmatched by the heat pooling in his groin. Eames rubbed a thumb over the tip of his cock, spreading the moisture beading there down along his frenulum. 

Eames lifted his hips and pushed his sweatpants down just enough that they weren’t an impediment, gently rolling his balls until he felt a tingle at the base of his prick. His free hand smoothed over his naked belly, his abs taut beneath his fingers as he sucked in a breath at the contact. Arthur’s muffled voice came through from the other room, his restrained laughter still bubbly before he barked out a sharp “Seriously, Robert?”

Eames pushed back his foreskin, thumbing the sensitive head. He rested his other arm above his head, fisting his pillow. He heard Arthur’s laughter again, this time crisp and clear from down between his legs. Eames’ eyes flew open, his hand stilling as he looked down, but saw nothing. His eyes clenched shut in frustration, and then Arthur was there, kneeling between his legs and laughing softly as he ran his palms over Eames’ slightly hairy thighs. Eames’ covered his closed eyes with a hand, grimacing, but then Arthur was running the flat of his tongue over the head of Eames’ cock, and Eames couldn’t breathe. 

He squeezed himself, hard, wheezing out a sharp breath as he tried to think of something else, anything else. He thought of Anne’s soft breasts, her milky skin and the way her hair brushed against him when she blew him. It became hard to focus though, and soon she was brushed aside for Arthur’s skinny frame. Arthur telling him how sexy he looked in that ridiculous sweater, grinding his ass back and begging Eames to fuck him. Telling Eames he was better than Robert, better than anyone he’d ever had. 

His breath was coming quick now, his hand flying over prick and body tight like a coiled spring. He saw himself gripping Arthur by the back of the neck and dragging him away from Robert. His roommate just sat and watched him bend his boyfriend over the coffee table and fuck him so hard the table slid across the floor and he had to keep shuffling forward to compensate. 

“You’re a fucking faggot, Eames,” Robert laughed, bemused.

Eames’ hand flew as he slapped himself in his genitals hard enough that he saw white, his knees jerking up and body twisting as fast as he could manage so his pained cry was masked by the pillow. He lay there curled up, breathing hard with tears pricking his eyes at the throbbing pain in his cock. 

“Fuck,” he hissed into the pillow. “Fuck fuck FUCK.” 

Once he had his breathing in relative control, he sat up, wiping angrily at his eyes with the heel of his hand. He pulled up his sweats, cupping himself to sooth the throbbing as he lay back. His cellphone buzzed noisily, catching him off guard. It was a text from Anne. ‘Sorry, with my sister. On for Thursday?’

Eames quickly tapped out a response, thick fingers fumbling on tiny digital letters. ‘Ya, get u @ 10?’

There was a long pause, Eames’ screen going black before lighting up again with the message indication. 

‘I’ll meet you there’ her message read. ‘Jess is coming, remember?’

Eames huffed, sitting so he could gingerly cup his abused prick through his soft sweats with his free hand. Jess, he’d forgotten she’d be there. Jess wasn’t that bad, but she’d always made it perfectly clear that she wanted Eames whenever he and Anne were on one of their breaks, and he always felt awkward around her. He was grateful he’d invited Ariadne and Imogen, quickly tapping out a ‘yup! ;)” before scrolling for Ari in his contact list and writing her a quick message. 

He put the phone down when he was done, tossing it back onto his nightstand before flipping open his laptop. From the sounds in the other room, Arthur and Robert would be there for a while. Eames curled on his side and flicked through the downloaded movies he had before settling on a tv series he likes, a mindless animation series for adults with low brow humor which was guaranteed to keep his mind from wandering for a few hours. 

Later he’d go to the gym, he’d hang out with Yusuf, but Eames knew until he got himself sorted out, he needed to stay the hell away from Arthur. 

 

* * * * *

The club was packed when they got there, brimming with bodies so that it took Eames and the girls two phone calls and several texts to find Anne and Jess. Jess was done up to the nines, her straw blonde hair piled messily atop her head and her body barely contained by a tiny jersey dress. The second she saw Eames she straightened herself with shoulders forward, lip caught between her teeth and head tossing to shake her massive dangling earrings. Thankfully Anne caught sight of him at the same time and walked over. 

She was stunning as usual, her black dress just short enough to show off her long creamy legs without looking cheap. Her dark hair loose and tousled about her shoulders. She may have downplayed her interest for a night out on the phone, but she never got this done up unless she was feeling ‘social.’ When she looked at him with her big eyes Eames couldn’t help the familiar surge of excitement to pick up where they left off, and from the look she gave him, Eames wasn’t sure she’d say no to that proposition. 

“You look gorgeous,” Eames said to her, dropping his voice to the husk he knew she liked. 

Her big red lips spread into a knowing smile, her eyes rolling as she reached to push at his face. “Shut up,” she said. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Eames’ smile was all teeth and charm. “Well how about a drink then?”

Her eyebrow quirked, her look turning playfully defiant. “Buy me one and find out.”

It took two Greyhounds for Anne to dance with him, but it wasn’t until she stole his whiskey sour that she seemed to relax enough to let her guard down. Ariadne couldn’t seem to stop herself from casting jealous glances in Anne’s direction every time the other girl put a hand on Eames’ face or chest, every time she laughed at something he said or drank from his cup. Imogen’s restless energy finally claimed her attention though and when some remixed pop song came on they danced together, all giggles and playful flailing. Eames even danced with Jill once, keeping a healthy enough distance that she wouldn’t mistake intent. It went on this way for several songs, their motley little group having a good time together. 

Ariadne jumped, turning to Imogen with a dropped jaw and almost manic excitement on her face. “Omg, this is on my gangster mix you made me back in 9th grade!” Eames couldn’t hear much more than a base beat, but finally through the dubstep remix Eames recognized the all too familiar Pony by Ginuwine. The girls were apparently doing their best impression of stripper dancing, blasting him with a memory of Arthur rubbing his firm little ass against Eames’ dick. ‘You’re so sexy in that shirt’ Eames heard, so clear as if Arthur was right next to him, whispering into his ear. 

Eames sidled up behind Anne, his hands resting hot on her hips. She kept dancing, her hips shifting beneath his fingers. He drew one hand around to her stomach, her soft hair tickling his lips when he brought them to her ear. “You’re the hottest girl here, you know that?”

She laughed, turning just enough to look at him through her long lashes. “Remember what I said about flattery?” 

He rubbed his hand lower on her stomach, just where he knew she loved it, and drew the tips of his fingers across her. “You sure about that?” Eames pressed his lips just below her ear just enough to know she’d feel it all the way down to her toes. She stilled, stiffening in his arms with apparent indecision. He waited, chest tight with the anticipation of her answer, the possibility of continued normalcy. The possibility of finally driving Arthur from his thoughts.

Anne stepped away from him. “You make it too easy, Eames,” she said sadly. Her whole demeanor changed, shoulders slumping in defeat. “But I can’t do this anymore. I really can’t.”

Eames waited for her to say something else, thought for a moment she was going to as warring emotions flickered through her expressive eyes. He swore they looked too glassy, like she was about to cry. Then she turned from him and called to Jill, asking her to go along to the bar for more drinks. Eames watched her go, heart pounding with adrenaline he couldn’t quite comprehend. For the first time it really felt like the end. 

Movement caught his eye and he turned to see Ariadne standing before him, lip caught between her teeth while she held one arm in a self conscious manner. “Didn’t go well?,” she asked tentatively, rocking up onto her toes. 

Eames shook his head. “I was stupid for even trying.”

“You can hang out with us,” she offered, her brows rounding in hopeful expectation. “Get your mind off it and everything.”

Eames glanced over to see Anne and Jill standing at the bar, Anne rubbing her temples and talking animatedly while Jill’s head bobbed in eager agreement. He nodded, turning back to Ariadne. “Absolutely.”

\- - - - - - 

Eames knew it was wrong to drape his arm around Ariadne’s shoulders and whisper into her ear. He felt the pit in his stomach as her face lit up, as the hope and delight grew in her eyes. He knew he was being an utter bastard, but at the moment it was as though Eames needed the attention. He needed to see and feel her want, to know that if he wanted he could have her, could be the best she ever had. If she wasn’t his friend he probably would have taken her up on it there in the club just to prove he could. So every time Ariadne stole toothy grins with Imogen, every time Imogen nudged her slyly in congratulations, Eames swallowed down the shame and had a drink. 

Ariadne didn’t deserve this, but Anne was keeping a healthy distance, dancing with Jill and being ridiculously over the top when she flirted with men. Nothing he had done swayed her until he began flirting with Ariadne. The more he selfishly engaged with the girl though, the more Anne’s resolve seemed to wane. 

Eames caught her casting quick glances over her shoulder, eyes narrowing in displeasure when Eames laughed at something the pint sized girl said. When Anne finally shook her head at him, Eames turned his back on her. 

Later, when Eames went for another drink, Anne sidled up next to him. Her expressive brows were knit in displeasure, her full lips a hard line. Eames almost expected her to drum her nails against the bar, as she was otherwise the very picture of grim disapproval. 

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” Eames responded. 

“With that poor girl,” Anne said, her tone indicating Eames should already know this was what she meant. “I don’t know what sort of game you’re playing, but this isn’t like you. You can be an idiot but you’ve never been cruel.”

Eames shook his head, reaching for his drink. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Anne blocked his path, hand planting hard on the bartop to stop Eames in his tracks. “I’m a fucking girl, Eames, I know the signs. She’s all giggles and is mooning over you like a lovesick preteen, and you know ‘exactly’ what you are doing.” Anne narrowed her eyes, daring Eames to contradict her. 

Eames sighed, slumping back against the bar, raising his drink to his lips. “Maybe I was lonely, don’t know how it matters to you as you clearly don’t want me anymore-”

Anne ripped the drink out of his hand, some of it dribbling down onto his chin. Eames lurched forward, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What the fuck?”

“Don’t pull that shit with me,” she hissed, her steely voice just audible over the loud music. “I don’t owe you shit, Eames, and if this is your new attitude we won't be friends anymore either.”

Eames stood stock still, a cocky rebuttal on the tip of his tongue, but Anne always did have a way of putting him in his place. He could handle her anger but not her disgust. 

“I know,” Eames relented with a defeated sigh. “I know...fuck Annie, I’m sorry.” He wiped a hand down his face with a groan, his chest growing tight. He looked over at her, pained at obvious suspicion in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

She handed him back his beer, holding it tight though when he went to accept it. She held his gaze, expression softening. “You can’t keep doing this to women. I know what it’s like to be so infatuated, and wish you’d feel the same about me...it sucked Eames. It always did.”

“What does that mean?” 

Anne let her head drop a little with a mirthless laugh. “You were never as into me as I was into you. You never will be.”

Eames’ brows knit, eyes cast to the floor. He wanted to tell her how she was full of shit, that this was typical “breakup” talk, but he knew she was right. He had cared for her, still did, but there was something missing. He’d always supposed he cared for Anne more than he could see himself caring for anyone else, and that if he was going to be with anyone it might as well be her. There wasn’t passion though, there was comfort. 

A warm hand on his shoulder made him look up, and Anne rubbed his arm. “You’re a great guy, Eames. Just...be honest, with yourself. I’m not entirely sure you always have been.” 

Eames could feel a cold anger sink in his gut, but pushed it down. Instead, he slapped on his infamous charming smile and laughed Anne off with a shake of his head. “You are making absolutely no sense, you know that?” He expected some sort of irritated rebuttal, but she just looked sad. It made Eames uneasy for clearly she saw through him, and he felt a stab of panic that if they stood there much longer, she’d see Arthur. Instead he hugged her, kissing her cheek. “Alright, Annie, I’ll leave Ari alone, happy? Let’s go dance.”

Anne rolled her eyes, but went along all the same. They danced together for a while, enjoying the music and each other’s company. She eventually waved Ariadne and Imogen over and the four of them all danced together, laughing and drinking. It was the sort of distraction Eames had needed, but while he kept drinking, he was careful in how he interacted with Ariadne. When she got too close, Eames pulled Imogen closer as well, or made some sort of quip to Anne about a guy who was drooling after her. The obvious disappointment was clear on her face, but Eames knew this was best. 

The night progressed well from there. Anne took up the mantle of eventual sober cab and cut herself off, but the rest of them saw no need to follow suit. Eames' head was pleasantly fuzzy and empty for the first time in weeks. He gave a girl in a barely there black dress a polite shake of the head when she beckoned him for a dance, instead grinding back on Imogen until she squealed in drunken delight and slapped him on the rump. He tossed his head back with a hearty laugh, presenting himself to Ariadne for a little smack which she only too happily indulged him in. The music was right, the pace high and unrelenting. The stress of the past weeks began to loosen, flaking away as he surrendered himself to the girls, the music, the drinks. 

A hand closed around his shoulder, hot breath rushing over his ear as a husky voice asked “How about a drink?”

Eames glanced over his shoulder, his smile fading as the man who’s addressed him smiled and took a less than subtle glance down Eames’ body, nodding appreciatively. He was older, probably late thirties but trying his damndest to revert back to his twenties. “You’re by far the hottest thing in here.” he said, his tone indicating Eames should be pleased with this accolade. 

Eames’ eyes narrowed, mind fuzzy with drink. “Naw, I’m good,” he finally said, turning his back on the man, glancing about to make sure none of his companions overheard. A strong hand gripped him, turning him back around as the guy took another step forward. 

“Come on, just one drink.” 

Eames eyes narrowed as he leveled on the guy’s confident smirk, like the guy ‘knew’ he’d snagged him. “Keep your hands off me,” he said, voice low in warning. Out of his peripheral vision, he noticed the girls had stopped dancing and were watching the exchange. 

The man didn’t seem to take the hint, letting go of Eames but rubbing his knuckles down the side of the younger man’s arm. “Calm down, kiddo, your friends won't mind. How about a dance then...” He moved to put his hands on Eames’ waist, still smiling in a way which made Eames’ blood boil. 

Eames straightened, body tensing and hands curling into fists at his sides as he stepped forward aggressively against the other man. “I said no, you fucking faggot” he hissed directly in the man’s face. 

The man’s smile was gone then, rising up to his full height to look down his nose at Eames. “What you say?”

Eames’ fists clenched, ready to send one flying before Imogen’s petite hands were pushing against their chests, separating them. “Whoa, whoa...calm down boys.”

Eames took another step forward, still glaring at the man as Anne and Ariadne gripped him by both arms to hold him back. “Stop, Eames,” Ariadne pleaded, trying to turn him away. He could see Imogen was talking to the guy but couldn’t hear what she was saying. Whatever she said must have worked, because the guy rolled his eyes but left, waving a hand dismissively towards Eames. 

Imogen turned, hands on hips. “Jesus christ Eames, take a chill pill.”

The adrenaline finally disappaiting, Eames was overcome by a rush of anger so strong he thought he might actually explode. He jerked away when a hand closed around his shoulder, turning to find Anne looking at him with knit brows. Ariadne was telling him she’d never taken him as homophobic, but Anne waved her off with a “you know stupid boys when they get drunk.” This seemed to appease the other girls, but Anne gripped him hard by the upper arm hard, her perfect nails cutting into him until he finally looked at her. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Eames’ jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring in indignation. “You saw it, he was fucking coming on to me…”

Anne groaned, exasperated. “So what? Gross guys hit on me all the time, who fucking cares? Just say no thanks and move away Eames, it’s not hard.” She stared at him in a way which made him uncomfortable, like she was seeing something he didn’t realize he was revealing. 

“Eames here just can’t hold his booze,” Imogen said, arching onto her tip toes so she could sling an arm around his shoulders. “Come on big guy, time to go home.”

“Don’t want to” Eames countered, but soon found his other arm occupied by Ariadne. The girls seemed determined to leave, and Eames didn’t have the energy to refuse them. 

In the parking lot, when Anne went to kiss Eames’ cheek, he pulled her into a tight embrace. There were so many things he wanted to say to her and he was just about drunk enough to actually voice them. “I wish I wanted you like you wanted me,” he finally said, words hushed and only for her ears. “If I had a choice I would.”

She stiffened slightly before finally melting against him, hugging him in return. “I know.” she said, resigned.


	7. Chapter 7

Eames was jerked from the deep sleep of the previously intoxicated by the screeching of his cell phone alarm. He fumbled for it with hooded eyes, almost knocking over his lamp in the process, but finally managed to press frantically on the volume, silencing the thing. Eames groaned, the faint light in the room still harsh to his sensitive eyes. His tongue was thick and dry in his mouth, the pain in his head roaring to life like an approaching locomotive. He risked cracking one eye to look at the clock on his cellphone, groaning at the 6:56 which greeted him. He’d had late nights before, but this morning he knew there was no way he’d be making it to his morning classes. His bladder was full and insistent, but when Eames pushed himself up to sit his eyes couldn’t seem to catch up with his head, and the room lurched about him. 

“Fuck…” he hissed, slumping back down into bed. He rolled to the side, tucking his legs up and willed himself back to sleep. 

Eames woke later to the sound of a door slamming. His head was still throbbing and a bit fuzzy but he wasn’t drunk anymore. The clock on his phone read 10:42, so the door had likely been Robert running to class, which thankfully meant their dorm should be empty for a few hours. He then realized if he didn’t go to the bathroom immediately, he’s most likely piss his pants. 

He grunted as he stood, holding onto the bed for leverage until he fully righted himself. Eames quickly fumbled through his closet for a towel and some soap before grabbing his room key and hauling ass to the bathroom. After relieving himself, he headed to the showers.

Eames lamented the lack of Yusuf’s handwritten warning on the shower room door, smiling to himself despite his fuzzy head and splitting headache. He turned the shower on as hot as it would go before pushing down his sweatpants and draping them over the hook beside the stall. He sighed as he stepped under the spray, the water deliciously searing his skin. If he didn’t know for a fact that spunk and mold were practically the main ingredient in the tile grouting, he’d have laid right down. Instead, he braced himself against the back wall with both arms and closed his eyes, letting the water beat down on the back of his neck. 

Eames’ stomach was already unsteady from the hangover, but churned further still as he pieced together the conversation he’d had with Anne the night before. What the fuck had he been thinking, saying those things to her? This of course hadn’t been their first drunken heart to heart. Anne tended to get introspective when drunk, and Eames himself tended to gush, letting his emotions get the best of him. He wanted to think he could call her and tell her he’d been drunk and said some stupid shit, but she’d know better. 

It wasn’t as though Eames was worried she’d go and spread his words around, tell anyone with a willing ear and a free moment. Anne would keep it to herself, Eames was just worried that he’d finally lost her. The thought of not having Anne in his life made his chest tighten, the mere idea of too foreign to fully comprehend. 

Eames shut the water off, finally feeling properly sobered. He hurried back to his room, glad to see it was still empty as anticipated. It felt good to putter around the common area of his dorm. He fixed himself a cup of tea and some toast, dropping down onto the couch for some much needed mind-numbing mid morning television. He chomped on his toast while watching some Law and Order re-run, bare feet propped on the coffee table. 

Some time later, Eames awoke to the sound of a key in the lock. He breathed in harshly, shaking sleep from his eyes as he glanced over at the clock. He sat in indecision, as he knew darting for his room at this point would be too obvious. Instead he slumped down further into the couch, thick arms crossing over his bare chest as he tried to feign continued sleep. 

The door opened, shutting immediately. He could hear footsteps coming towards him but still jerked when whoever it was kicked him lightly on the calf. Eames cracked an eye open to see Robert, who looked a little worse for wear. 

“Afternoon, roomie,” Robert said. “You look like shit.”

Eames forced himself to sit up a bit, feet still propped on the table. “Just tired...overdid it a bit last night.”

“I can see that,” Robert chided, his tone playful but his eyes betraying his nerves as he glanced towards his bedroom door. “Is Arthur here?”

Eames shook his head, reaching a hand up to scratch above his ear. “No, he’s not here.”

Robert shifted, hands on his hips. “Was he by at all today?”

Eames shook his head again, brows knitting at the line of questioning. He tried not to jerk away when Robert sighed and slumped down onto the couch next to him, knee tucked beneath him. Eames cocked a brow at him, trying not to scowl at how close Robert was. Robert, true to fashion, took no notice. 

“Has Arthur-” He stopped mid sentence, fingers carding through his hair as he seemingly decided what to ask or whether to ask it in the first place. His trepidation was uncharacteristically Robert, who usually had no issue stating his mind. “Has he said anything to you?”

Eames’ brows rose, his chest tightening in uncertainty of where this line of questioning was headed. He hated himself for the immediate guilt which washed over him. He wondered if Robert could read it on his face. “Like….ever?”

Robert shook his head, rolling his eyes at Eames’ inane response. “No, I mean lately. Has he said anything to you about me? About anything I’ve done or said, or whatever.”

Eames felt hot, too unsure still to feel relieved that Robert wasn’t going to ask him about his own behavior. “No mate, sorry. Arthur and I don’t really talk that much when you aren’t around, yeah?”

Robert sighed heavily, his posture still rigid though his cheeks pinked with emotion. “Have I don’t anything that you’ve seen? Acted different at all?”

Eames shook his head. “You’re the same old spoiled asshole,” he offered with a tiny grin, hoping the put the other boy at ease. Robert was normally so unphased by anything, always confident and carrying an air of superiority, but that’s just how he was. Eames and anyone else who knew him were fully aware of how he was, and accepted him for it. Robert’s little complex was part of his charm. 

Robert cocked his jaw to the side, cutting his eyes to Eames to show just how much he appreciated that little joke in the moment. He rested an arm on the back of the couch, angling his body further towards Eames as though Eames had offered to have a heart to heart. Eames did his best to look like he didn’t want to run for his room, and braced himself for whatever was coming. 

“He’s just been acting different lately,” Robert gushed. “He never wants to come over anymore, always makes excuses for staying at his place. Not to be a prick or anything but his place is a total dump and he and Dom share a room, it’s not like we have privacy. Then when he is here he barely ever wants to fuck-”

“Christ” Eames interjected, hands up in surrender. “Don’t want to fucking hear it, Robert.”

Again Robert rolled his eyes. “You fucking baby. You’re not going to be less heterosexual knowing your gay roommate and his boyfriend have sex, now shut up and listen, I need advice here.”

Eames groaned but crossed his arms again. If Robert only fucking knew what had been going on in his head lately, he wouldn’t want his goddam advice. 

“He’s never been weird about sex, ever. But lately he’s been avoiding it, avoiding me. I can’t think of anything I’ve said or done differently, so what the fuck? I can’t ask my dad cause he already wants me to be straight, I can’t ask Dom cause he’s about as helpful as a second asshole...and he seems to really connect with you.” Robert stared directly at Eames, waiting for some profound reply. 

Eames opened his mouth, shutting it again immediately. “I don’t know, Robert...I just got fucking dumped again, I’m not the person to ask relationship advice.”

“Whatever, Anne gets back together with you every time. Just imagine you’re in my place, what would you do?”

Eames could only too vividly imagine what he’d do, remembering the feeling or Arthur grinding back on him, how he felt under him on Ariadne’s futon. Remembered the look on Arthur’s face when he saw Eames watching them fuck on the couch they were currently sitting on. Eames let his feet drop down to the floor, hunching forward slightly for fear he’d get hard.

“Just...ask him,” Eames said finally, voice gravelly. “I dunno, maybe it nothing.”

Robert sighed, not appearing satisfied but realizing the futility of pushing the issue. 

“Sorry,” Eames offered. 

Robert waved him away, glancing back towards his empty bedroom. “It’s fine...thanks for listening, man.”

Eames nodded, reaching over to clap his roommate on the knee. “You got this, big boy.” 

Robert stood suddenly, taking his phone out. “I’ll call him,” he said, more to himself than to Eames. “I just gotta get this figured out or I’ll go mental.” He picked up his bookbag and flung it over his shoulder, moving quickly to his bedroom with his phone to his ear. Eames watched him go, waited until the door was shut before turning the TV off and retreating to his own room. 

Eames flopped down onto his bed, reaching over onto his desk for his phone. When he turned it on, there was a message from Anne waiting for him. Eames inhaled sharply before sliding his thumb across the screen to view the message.

‘You can always talk to me Eames. I love you and I’m here for you as your friend’

Eames sighed deeply, releasing the breath he’d been holding. He felt a warmth spread through him, the tightness in his chest finally dissipating. His thumb hovered over the keys to type out a reply, but when he couldn’t think of one he merely pressed the back button, saving the message. Eames was about to put his phone down when he realized there was a text message indicator at the top of his screen. 

Eames sat up, his shoulders hunched forwards as he went to his text message inbox. It was a number he didn’t recognize, but from a local area code. He pressed it, the message filling his screen.

‘i can’t stop thinking about you’

Eames stared down at the message, breath caught as a tingling warmth set into his belly. He knew who sent the message, knew it instantly. Eames’ eyes flashed to his shut door, as though Robert would burst in at any second. He looked down at the message again, quickly pressing the power button when the screen timed out and went black. He stared at the words, hearing them in his head in the same voice which had said “You’re so sexy in that shirt.”

Eames considered deleting the message, worried that keeping it would invite trouble. He went so far as to actually press the delete button before his phone prompted him, asking if he was sure. He pressed the cancel button. When he was back at the message, he worked his way through the settings, adding the number to contacts. He hesitated at the name, wondering if he was ready to see Arthur’s name on his phone. Instead, he typed “Gwen”, no last name. 

Eames sat on his bed, cross legged and staring down at the new contact he’d created. He expected the guilt, but the guilt couldn’t even compare to the unmistakable thrill which twisted his gut.


End file.
